by Chris Curran
It was clear her mum’s feeling towards the comic had changed over the years, which might explain why she hadn’t mentioned him for so long even though she must have come into contact with him and Cora all the time.
Then, in early ’52, just over a year before she disappeared, she wrote: Charlie’s not happy because he hasn’t had a raise for ages and Sid always pleads poverty when he asks for one. Yet he and Cora seem to do very well for themselves. Charlie has started to think seriously about leaving the act. I’ll be honest – that would suit me. Of course Charlie is so loyal to Sid he won’t hear a word against him.
So her dad had considered breaking with Sid even before he met Dennis. Joycie knew how difficult that must have been for him. He had told her many times how Sid virtually adopted him as a teenager. He had never known his parents and had grown up in a Dr Barnardo’s home in the East End of London. Sid had given him a job and they had shared lodgings until Charlie went into the army and Sid married Cora.
In the final year, I953, there were only two letters: both very short. One she sent in January to wish her family a happy new year. She said they’d had a quiet Christmas and that Joycie was becoming really tall. We’ll be in a new place for the summer season this year. Hastings, which will make a nice change.
The final letter was sent just a day or two before she disappeared. I’m coming back home. Please tell Dad I only need to stay for a day or so until I find somewhere permanent. Charlie won’t be with me, just Joycie … then there was that scribbled out phrase. Joycie held the paper under the lamp. She thought she could make out a couple of words: persuade … later. Had her mum started to say she’d been trying to persuade Charlie to come with them or to follow on when he’d finished the summer season? Or was that just Joycie’s wishful thinking?
And what about that mysterious sentence: Please, Mam, something has happened and I have to get away from here and to get Joycie away too.
‘Something has happened, something has happened, something has happened.’ She said the phrase aloud over and over, but was no closer to knowing what it meant.
And niggling at the edge of her consciousness was the sense of having missed a significant clue.
***
When Marcus called up to her, Fatty leapt from the sheepskin rug and raced down, dancing around him, her tail wagging furiously. From the top of the stairs Joycie said, ‘She definitely loves you best.’
She must have looked as tired as she felt because when she ran down to kiss him he moved back and looked at her. ‘I’ll take her for her walk tonight. You look done in.’
While he was gone she rooted in the kitchen cupboards for something they could eat, coming out with a couple of packets of Vesta chicken curry. They would only take a few minutes to heat up so while she waited for Marcus she brought down the keepsake box. Still feeling that she’d missed something crucial.
She reread the cuttings, but could find nothing significant. Fresh eyes might help so perhaps she’d ask Marcus to look at them. The Hastings Observer from the week before her mum’s disappearance was dusty and yellowing and the entertainments page featured a review of the Disney cartoon Peter Pan and of a local amateur dramatic production of An Inspector Calls. No mention of the variety show at all.
She looked through the photo album. She had always been disappointed that her parents had no pictures of their wedding, and she remembered her mum saying they couldn’t afford a photographer. ‘In any case, I didn’t have a white dress or anything like that because, even if we’d had the money, it was wartime and that kind of thing was all rationed. People managed as best they could.’
She wondered now if they’d ever actually been married because her aunt had said their father refused his permission.
The only picture of her parents together was a tiny snap. They were walking along a seaside promenade somewhere. The smudge of white in her mum’s arms must have been Joycie as a tiny child, but the dazzle of sunshine made their faces so hazy it was impossible to tell if they were smiling.
After that the photos were mostly of Joycie with her mum, and she remembered her dad taking some of them. There was one professional picture of him, very handsome in his dinner jacket and bow tie. The back was stamped with the name and studio of the photographer and dated January 1952. Perhaps he’d had it done to try for other jobs. That would certainly match with her mum’s letter saying he was thinking of leaving the act.
Although she remembered the incident with Mr Grant and knew her mum had occasionally had male visitors when Joycie was in bed and her dad at the theatre she had thought her parents were happy with each other. They were always laughing and joking and …
She wakes to hear a Frank Sinatra song playing softly in the other room. It’s called ‘Blue Skies’ and when she peeps through her door she sees her mum and dad dancing slowly together, her mum’s head on his shoulder, eyes closed …
Joycie closed her own eyes at the memory. She must have been about eight or nine at the time.
Marcus and Fatty crashed through the door and she closed the album, almost angry with them for coming back so soon. But Marcus was laughing and it looked as if Fatty was too. Tongue lolling from her mouth as she panted and bounced, her lead tangling around Marcus’s legs. It was impossible not to laugh with them.
Marcus pulled two bottles of light ale and a couple of packets of crisps from the pockets of his mac. ‘I’m thirsty and I didn’t know if we had any food in so I popped into the pub and got these.’
Chelsea – July 1965
The weather had been cool and cloudy all month, but today the sun was shining when Joycie got home. It was only just after lunchtime. She’d been booked for an all-day shoot, but some of the clothes hadn’t arrived at the magazine so they’d done as much as they could and rescheduled the rest.
Joycie was glad because she wasn’t sleeping well and the photographer had kept moving her about and shaking his head. When he sent her to put more concealer under her eyes and a bit of colour on her cheeks she guessed she must look as tired as she felt. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but Fatty met her at the door clearly longing for a walk, so she clipped on the lead and headed out again.
A taxi drove slowly past her, obviously searching for somewhere, and she wasn’t surprised to see it stop just before the Italian restaurant on the corner, but when the cab door opened a chill went through her. The woman getting out was Cora, and she was looking back at Joycie with a beaming smile. Joycie pulled on Fatty’s lead, but it was too late to stop her colliding with Cora’s legs. Cora gave a smoke-infused laugh and crouched down.
‘Oooh what a lovely boy. What a beautiful lad, you are, yes you are.’
The chill sensation turned to a burst of irritation and Joycie dragged Fatty away. ‘She’s a bitch, Cora.’
As she tried to stand Cora staggered and Joycie had to put out a hand to help her.
‘Oops, shouldn’t have had that last glass,’ she said. ‘Just been at a lovely long lunch with a big TV producer. Don’t spread it about, but they’re doing a show with that Irish singer, whatshisname, and they want a regular comedy spot to liven it up. Very interested in Sid.’
Joycie began to walk away. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t stop. Fatima has to have her walk.’
‘That’s all right, darling, I could do with a stroll to clear my head, and I was on my way to see you when I spotted you leaving the house.’
Joycie wanted to hurry on, but she felt obliged to slow her pace to allow Cora to teeter along next to her. The taxi stayed creeping behind them, and when she glanced back she felt the driver’s eyes on her. His face was just a fuzzy profile, but she wanted very much for him to go away. ‘There’s no need to waste your money keeping the taxi with you, Cora,’ she said. ‘It’s easy to hail one on the King’s Road.’
Cora took Joycie’s arm, a waft of her perfume cloying the space between them. ‘It’s OK, love, he’s a friend. Doesn’t charge me.’
Chilly fingers crawled up and dow
n Joycie’s spine, but she forced herself not to look round again.
When they got to the park next to St Luke’s Church she stopped to fiddle with the clasp on Fatty’s lead, saying, ‘What was it you wanted?’
Fatty began to whine and strain towards the park gate. Cora turned back to the cab making a circling movement with her index finger. The taxi pulled slowly away, and she headed through the gate.
Released from her lead, Fatty shot inside. Joycie followed, and when Cora sat on a bench near the gate she seemed to have no choice but to sit there too, trying to keep as far away as she could.
‘This is nice,’ Cora said, slipping off her red stilettos, raising her legs, and wiggling her toes in their black stockings. ‘Ooh, that’s better.’ Her teeth were rather too even and too white and Joycie guessed they must be false, but expensive. ‘I do hope you’ve brightened up a bit now, darling. You seemed very low the last time I saw you. Irene’s death must have hit you hard. Brought back too many memories I expect. But it doesn’t do any good to mope over things that can’t be changed, does it?’ A sidelong glance. ‘And you’ve got so much to be grateful for.’
A surge of anger. If Cora wanted to talk to her she’d have to listen to what Joycie had to say too. She walked over to where Fatty stood panting and staring longingly at a stick on the ground, and without looking at Cora she said, ‘I’ve been hoping to see you as a matter of fact. I wanted to ask why you felt the need to lie about the day my mum disappeared.’ She threw the stick, moving to stand in front of Cora as Fatty dashed away.
Cora was scrabbling in her handbag; the shiny teeth hidden behind pursed lips; the lines standing out sharply in the sunlight. Joycie saw that beneath the powder she had the shadow of a moustache. But she also saw something else. Cora was rattled.
‘What do you mean?’ A wavering laugh.
‘You said you found a bloodstained mat and disposed of it.’
‘And so I did, the morning after.’ It was too quick, and her hands were unsteady as she rooted in her bag, pulling out cigarettes and a lighter.
‘But you also said you didn’t tell Sid what you found and I happen to know you did.’
Cora lit up and breathed out a gust of smoke, which carried a small chuckle with it. ‘Did I? It’s such a long time ago and my memory’s not as good as it was, but you could well be right because Sid and I don’t have secrets from each other.’ She leaned back taking another drag from the cigarette. If she had been worried she wasn’t any longer.
Joycie wanted to tell her exactly what her husband was like. What he’d tried to do to Joycie herself, what she was sure he’d done to other young girls. But for some reason she couldn’t do it.
Fatty came back without the stick and stood looking from one to the other. Cora chuckled and patted the bench to bring Fatty to her side. She ruffled the soft hair on the dog’s back as she spoke. ‘I’m glad you told me what’s been worrying you because I had the feeling you weren’t satisfied when we had our last chat. That’s why I wanted to see you today. Hated to think of you fretting over a silly misunderstanding.’
Joycie found another stick, waving it in front of Fatty until she began to yelp impatiently. That sense of watching eyes was creeping over her again, but when she’d thrown the stick and turned back there was no sign of the taxi, and Cora was staring at the curls of smoke rising from her cigarette. Joycie stood over her: anger spiking again.
‘There’s something else I need to ask you.’
But Cora slipped her feet into her shoes, and when Fatty bounded back empty mouthed she said, ‘Another time, eh? We’re keeping this lovely girl from her walk.’ She stood and patted Fatty’s head, and the traitorous animal batted her eyelashes and wagged her tail until Joycie raised her hand and pretended to throw something and she charged away again.
‘I’ve been followed and threatened by a man from one of the big London gangs and I know you and Sid have friends among them. Did he send someone after me because I was asking questions?’
Cora threw her cigarette on the ground and pressed it under the toe of her shoe. ‘Don’t be silly, darling. Sid is just a comic and I’m a businesswoman. Anyone working in the clubs has to deal with the gangs, but that doesn’t mean we get chummy with them.’
Fatty seemed to have disappeared and Joycie scanned the park for her. Cora pushed her handbag into the crook of her arm, the heavy charm bracelet rattling. ‘But you’re a sensible girl and you’ve got so much going for you. So as I said, it’s best to leave the past alone and be grateful for what you have.’ She glanced towards the road and back at Joycie. ‘Now I’d better go and let you look for your dog. Don’t want to lose her, do you?’
The taxi had drawn up by the gate again. That urge to shout the truth about Sid surged back. But what was the point? Cora was just a pathetic old woman who probably knew what he’d been up to all these years, but couldn’t face it. So why, as she watched her wobble away through the gate and clamber into the taxi, did she feel another shudder of fear?
She shook herself to shrug it off and walked through to the other part of the park calling for Fatty. A couple of girls were sitting on the swings hardly moving as they sucked on ice lollies. One of them took the lolly from her bright red mouth to say, ‘Nah, Mrs,’ when Joycie asked if they’d seen a dog on its own. The man walking a collie hadn’t seen anything either. By the time she had searched every inch of the park her voice had begun to crack. ‘Where are you, you stupid animal?’ she whispered.
The road circling the park was busy, but Fatty would surely have been too scared to venture out there on her own and there had been no sounds of screeching brakes. Still, she walked up and down, crossed over and walked the other way, looking along side streets and into the entrances to basement flats. After that she searched the park again, but it was no good. She headed home, biting her lip to hold back the tears.
Chapter Fifteen
Joycie had hoped Fatty might be waiting outside the house, but there was no sign of her. Although it was impossible for her to have got inside Joycie couldn’t stop herself running from room to room clutching the useless lead to her chest and calling; making her voice gentle in case Fatty thought she was angry. In the bedroom she pushed up the window and scanned the gardens and the back lane, calling loudly now.
Still nothing.
For a while she leaned on the window ledge staring out, but then her legs seemed to give way and she sat at the dressing table and let the tears come. She was crying for Fatty, but also because she was scared again in a way she hadn’t been for weeks. The meeting with Cora had unnerved her and that sense of something important in the back of her mind that she couldn’t quite grasp was disturbing.
When the front door opened she wiped her face with the back of her hand and waited, hardly daring to breath. Please, Marcus, tell me you’ve found her. But when he called up it was just to ask if she was in.
She ran down, her voice cracking again. ‘It’s Fatty. I’ve lost her.’ She was tempted to add that she thought the dog had been taken, but for some reason she felt as if saying it out loud would make it more likely.
After he’d asked if she’d looked everywhere in the park and in the roads around; if she’d checked the back garden and the lane behind it, Marcus said, ‘You wait here in case she turns up and I’ll have another look all over.’
She stood outside on the top step scanning the street when he’d gone, calling out Fatty’s name every few minutes and hearing Marcus doing the same from different places.
It was getting close to midsummer and wouldn’t be properly dark for ages, but the cloudy evening had the kind of dreary look about it that always made Joycie feel sad. No sun, but no stars either just a dull light making even the elegant Georgian street seem grim.
Marcus came back alone; his lips pressed tightly together as if he too was afraid he might cry. He shook his head as soon as he saw her. ‘I’ll pop down to the police station. Her collar has our phone number on it, but if anyone’s found her the
y might have called the cops instead or even taken her there.’
As she watched him walk away Joycie grabbed a jacket from just inside the door and sat on the house steps with the jacket clutched around her, rubbing her bare legs to get rid of the goosebumps. Was she being paranoid in imagining that Fatty’s disappearance had something to do with the meeting with Cora? Or that it might be another warning from Bill and his gang?
She stared down the street in the direction Marcus had gone imagining that he’d turn the corner by the Italian restaurant any minute with Fatty by his side.
He appeared, walking slowly, head down: alone. The lump that had been stuck in Joycie’s chest rose into her throat. She wanted to shout at him to go back, to look again and keep looking until he found Fatty. But when he reached her and she saw how beaten he looked she stood and they held each other for a long while.
‘Let’s go in,’ Marcus said finally. ‘I need a drink.’
Joycie headed straight for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make us some sandwiches. We’ve got to meet Helen and her sister tonight.’
‘Oh God, do we have to?’
She couldn’t see him, but it sounded as if he was stretching out on the sofa.
‘I can’t let them down and anyway they might have remembered something about Pauline.’ The bread was a bit stale so she put it under the grill and sliced some cheese to go on top. ‘I’d love to have something hopeful to tell Mrs Shaw.’
‘I don’t know how you managed to lose Fatty in that little park,’ Marcus said, his voice tight.
The cheese was sizzling as she put the toast on plates. She didn’t speak, just carried in the food and waited until he swung his feet down and she could sit next to him.
He twisted to look at her. ‘What is it?’
And she told him about Cora, the taxi, and her feeling that Fatty’s disappearance might even have been managed by Bill’s gang. She was expecting him to laugh it off and half hoping he would.
Instead he looked hard at her. ‘We should cancel tonight with those girls. Being seen with you might put them in danger.’
